The Hardest Part
by PoisonComeUndone
Summary: It's three years after the apocolypse, and things have settled down. It seems like the heroes that won the war might finally get a chance at lives of their own. It's a shame happy endings never seem able to happen for the Winchesters.


I swear, this fandom has grabbed me by the neck and screamed "WRITE!" in my face. O.O This was supposed to be like…two pages. Not 11.

Anyway, this is MAJORLY sad, I warn you. As in, I cried writing it, pieces of it at least. Don't ask me where the inspiration came from, it just freakin' jumped me this morning when I woke up…

the title comes from...

_My sisters and my brothers still_

_I will not kiss you_

_Cause the hardest part of this_

_Is leaving you_

_-Cancer, My Chemical Romance  
_

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

Even after losing his position in Heaven, he still has every faith in God. The apocalypse came and went, and in the aftermath Dean had agreed to settle down, a little bit at least. They'd bought a little house just outside of Denver, and thought they still spent more time on the road hunting than they did at home, it gave them a little bit of stability. They'd all been happy, even Sam, and Castiel was sure they'd spend the rest of their lives being happy. After all, by anyone's standards they had each given more than enough already.

So at first, the migraines Dean was having didn't worry him. Nothing could be wrong with him, not really, because though He was at times mysterious, God would never be that cruel. Even so he and Sam had hounded Dean until he saw a doctor, just in case. Really, they didn't expect anything more than him coming home with some really good drugs and a few cracks about the nurse.

Instead, he'd found himself in the doctor's office with Sam just days later, hearing that it'll just be three months, maybe four. An inoperable brain tumor, and they're all very sorry. Sorry, as if he's already dead. They had stepped out into the hall, dazed, and Sam had turned wordlessly to punch a hole in the wall. He had cried then, and Castiel had pulled him into his arms without a thought, hugging him tightly and pulling his own emotions under strict control. If he had learned anything from Dean it was this: always, always take care of Sam.

He had been strong, so long as he was with him. Back at home, he'd gone outside to fall apart. It was Dean that found him later; kneeling, praying, blood on his palms from fingernails digging in too tight. He wrapped his arms around him, kissed his forehead and told him everything was alright. He had told him, bitterly, to save the bullshit for Sam. In three years, it'd been the first time he'd actually cursed but given the circumstances, even Dean couldn't laugh.

'''''''''''''''''''''

For awhile, everything returns to almost normal. In true Dean fashion he refuses to talk about it, and though Cas and Sam refer to it occasionally with each other, it's never more than a few sentences barely strung together.

They're sitting on a park bench when Dean finally says something, his hand twitching lightly where it rests on Castiel's thigh.

"I always though it'd be nice to have a kid. One day, you know. After we were a little older, hunted a little less." He shrugs, like it doesn't mean anything to him, really.

Castiel swallows twice before h e gathers his words. "I can see you as a wonderful father, Dean."

Dean laughs, short and soft. "Nah, I'd just be the goof off with the cool music. You'd be the responsible one." He grins, a perfect mask. "Think that makes you the mom?"

"You'd teach them to drive the Impala. And fix her." He can hardly get it out his throats so tight but he has to say it, has to let Dean know he's thought about this too. He can see it now, and the image feels like its burning just behind his eyes. Dean bent over the hood, holding a little boy around the waist as he leans in to tighten a bolt.

Dean's thumb smoothes over Castiel's jeans, rubbing over the spot where he'd accidently dripped bleach on them before tossing them in the wash. "You could still do it, you know. Later." He looks away, head turned just enough that Cas can't see his eyes. "Just…just tell 'em about me. Sammy'd be a good uncle."

He doesn't say anything but he knows he won't, he never could. Without Dean, it just wouldn't be right. A child needs at least 1 whole parent, and he knows that after this, he'll never be whole again.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''

Even without talking about it, _it_ won't let them forget. Castiel comes home from the store one day to find him on the bathroom floor, white as a sheet. He rushes to his side, presses a cool hand to his forehead. "Your pills, are they still-"

Dean waves him off, shaking his head weakly. "Already took 'em. Not working anymore."

His heart almost beats out of his chest, fingers trembling a little as he pulls Dean to rest against his shoulder. "Sam?"

"I sent him out when I felt this comin' on. Didn't want to worry him."

Castiel lets his eyes close, fights the sob rising in his chest. Even as biased as he is, he's certain there's never been another human this selfless. He rubs his back gently, kisses the top of his head. "We need to go see the doctor again, Dean."

Dean goes rigid in his arms, his voice harsh and angry. "I am not going into the hospital, Cas. Not yet, there's still time, I'm still doin' ok."

Castiel tightens his hold on his hunter, shakes his head once. "No. I know. But you need something stronger, for the pain."

Dean nods wearily, and it's that more than anything else that tells him that this is already taking Dean from him, right before his eyes.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''

He's watching them play pool in the basement one night when Dean suddenly stops, turning to beckon him to his feet. "C'mere." He's smiling, happy, and Castiel forgets everything other than that the moment he takes Dean's outstretched hand. "Need to teach you how to play pool, cause someone other than me's gotta be able to kick this kid's ass." He shoots a grin at Sam, laughs when his brother flips him off while taking a sip of beer.

"I know nothing about-"

"Ah, I know you don't, but you're gonna learn from a master. Here." He pulls him impossibly close, turning him to face the table, Dean pressed tight against his back. "We're gonna play Sammy together, ok? You'll see how it's done."

They play three games, and it's much more fun than he ever thought it would be, though he shoots miserably when Dean isn't right there to position his hands. Eventually, he's paying more attention to the way Dean's pressed against him than he is the game, and when he turns his head to ask Dean a question and ends up kissing him instead, Sam leaves the room, slapping Dean on the back and making some joke Castiel doesn't even register as he walks past.

Within minutes he's moaning, head thrown back, one hand splayed against the table and the other digging into Dean's shoulder as he kneels before him, green eyes hungry with lust and love as he looks up at his angel.

Afterward they lay exhausted on the floor, Dean's chin resting just over Castiel's heart. "Told you you'd like pool."

He laughs, leans forward to catch Dean's lips in a tender kiss. It was all wonderful, and the night would've been perfect if not for the ever present truth. This can't become a tradition, or even a habit for very long. And even if he and Sam somehow make it through this, this is one thing he'd never be able to do again without feeling Dean's mouth on him, seeing the way he'd nuzzled against his hip after he'd come. There's a whole host of things that remind him too much of Dean, a list he's making for himself without ever meaning to of places he can never go again, things he'll never do. Now, this is one of them.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Inoperable doesn't mean totally untreatable. Technically. Really it does and everyone knows it, mostly. Everyone except Sam. He keeps pushing, keeps searching, and Dean goes along with every treatment Sam can talk the doctor into trying. He doesn't really want it, Cas can tell, but he puts on a smile for Sam and thanks him for trying every time. He'll go through anything to make Sam feel even a little better, and he's proving that all over again.

Castiel loses track of him one night, finally finds him at the door to Sam's room, leaning quietly against the doorframe.

"Sometimes, I miss sleeping in the same room with him all the time like we do on the road. You know, checkin' on him whenever I want."

Dean doesn't really want him to say anything, he knows, so he doesn't.

"After…" He sucks in a sharp breath, stubbornly keeps his eyes trained on Sam and not Cas's questioning stare. "If he falls asleep in the chair, make him move cause his back'll hurt when he wakes up. And take his boots off for him if he doesn't wake all the way up once he gets up here." He walks away without a word, and when Castiel goes back to their room, just to check, he isn't surprised to find that Dean isn't there.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

The closer it gets, the more he talks about Sam.

They're in the Impala, windows down, when Wanted Dead Or Alive comes on and Dean rolls the windows up, turns the radio down whisper soft. "When that comes on the radio, turn it off. Don't make him ask you to."

Castiel nods slowly, keeps his questions to himself.

Dean is silent for a moment, his grip on the wheel shifting a half dozen times as he thinks things through. "You'll be a good brother for him, you know. He kinda already thinks of you that way, after you and me…" He laughs once, a smile ghosting across his face. "Well, you know. He'll let you take care of him, I think, long as you don't try to act like me, and I know you won't." He looks straight into the sun, tightens his grip till his knuckles turn white. "You'll look after him, right?"

"Dean, you know you don't have to ask." He says it gentle, free of accusation. It doesn't bother him really that Dean thinks he needs to remind him. This is too important to Dean for him not to say it, even if he doesn't really need to.

"Yeah. Yeah I know. I'm just…just makin' sure."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Around the three month mark the slow changes he'd already been noticing seem to start rolling downhill. The night that he isn't even hungry enough to finish a cheeseburger Sam goes outside shoots what looks like the entire emptied contents of a liquor store off a nearby fence. When Cas comes outside he holds the gun out to him wordlessly, and even though he doesn't take it Castiel is touched that he offered. For him, this is dealing, in a small way. Sam wanting to share that with him is at least a good sign.

He brings Sam back in with him, and after a run to the store they stumble together through making an apple pie. It's not a masterpiece and it's definitely not pretty, but it's hot and sweet and without getting too hopeful out loud, they're both convinced this'll be all it takes to get Dean's appetite back up.

He's excited, of course, teasing Sam about becoming a housewife and wrapping his arms around Castiel's waist to steal a kiss, but when it's done he only eats one piece, and they both know things are worse than they thought.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''

It's a Sunday morning when Dean shakes him awake, eyes blazing with fury. "Did you know about this?"

He's still a little fuzzy, not all the way clear yet and even if he was, that sentence isn't exactly the most explanatory statement ever. "Did I know what exactly, Dean?"

"_This_." He shoves a shoebox into Castiel's chest , voice still clipped and hard.

He pulls the lid off slow, a soft noise of understanding escaping him when he sees the contents. Graveyard dust, the bones of a black cat, and Sam's college ID. He shakes his head, still not looking Dean in the eye. "No. I did not."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes." He can feel the anger rising in his own chest now, hot and dangerous. He's running on a constant charge of too much high emotion, and he knows that if they fight now, it's going to be a bad one. "You know I never lie to you. At least, you should. But no matter what I do, you'll never really trust me, will you?"

"Oh, stop it. I trust you." He yanks the box away, his eyes still angry. "But I'm not talkin' about that, I'm talking about _this_, about why the fuck I found it in the goddamn car!"

His anger boils over and there's nothing he can do to stop it. He's out of bed and on his feet, staring Dean down. "And what do you really expect us to do, Dean? Just lie down and watch you die? You just want to leave your instructions and have us keep pretending we're perfectly fine with it all." He can feel panic somewhere in his chest, clawing. One of these days, it's going to burst out. "I don't blame him. Not at all."

"You're an angel for God's sakes! Making deals with demons is-"

"I abandoned Heaven, if you recall! For _you!_" Dean flinches away from the words and Castiel takes a deep breath, pulls himself under control. "And I am not sorry. I will never be sorry. But I am not the saint I was, I am not…" He shakes his head, feels his anger already giving way to something far more crushing. "I learned, from _you,_ Dean, that there are more important things than right or wrong. And I would have done it myself, if I had thought it would work. But they're not dealing, not now. They're keeping to themselves, rebuilding. That much I know. If he went, Dean, it was a futile attempt. His soul remains his own." He steps closer, wanting to take advantage of the rush of words tumbling in his head, wanting to be heard. "But he is not alright, Dean." His voice shakes, trembling more when he continues. "_I_ am not alright. And you can't expect us to be."

Dean looks away, drops the shoebox onto the nightstand and studies it a moment. "Cas, I'm sorry, I just…I can't talk about this, you know? You think…you think this is what I want, leaving you two after everything…" He leans on the wall with one hand, his head bowed. "it's not fair. And I hate it. And I know this is gonna hurt both of you like hell and there's nothing I can do to stop it. And I…" The breath he takes shudders a little, and Castiel has to fight the urge to touch him. He knows if he does, Dean won't get this out. "I don't want to die, not now. And I'm scared, Cas. Even after everything, what if they send me back? I don't think I can do that again, not and still be me. I'll become one of them, I know it."

He can't stand it anymore, so he has to hope that's all Dean was going to be able to say. He steps in close behind him, wraps his arms around his waist and nestles his head against Dean's shoulder. He speaks softly, though his voice rings with conviction. "You're not going to hell. That much I know. You are the world's hero, Dean. You have a place waiting for you in Heaven."

He feels Dean's chest rise and fall with several deep breaths before he nods, slight. "I still don't wanna die. I did before, but…"

"I know."

Dean pulls away enough to slide back into bed, scooting over just a little farther than he usually would to give Cas room to lay down on Dean's side of the bed. They fit together as perfectly as they were meant to, and though Dean kisses him he can tell that for once, his hunter wants pure comfort more than sex. They fall asleep together, waking only when Sam nearly beats down the door to let them know he's ordered pizza for dinner.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

He goes into the hospital on a Thursday, and Castiel's almost certain that somewhere there's a pagan god of irony laughing at him. He and Sam all but move in, taking turns watching for nurses so Castiel can whisk them away with his powers if he needs to. After choosing to stay with Dean, he was more or less disowned by Heaven. It wasn't unheard of, certainly. There had always been deserters in the past, and before there angels that really truly fell, what he is now is what was always called a fallen angel. Many of them went to Lucifer, in the beginning. Some, like Cas himself, had other, very specific reasons for falling. Either way, it didn't matter. When it came down to it, they weren't supposed to have free will but they had taken it by force, those who had left. They were damned, all of them. Even him. A fact he'd conveniently forgotten to ever tell either of the Winchester boys.

They knew bits and pieces, the unimportant parts. They knew that his time away from Heaven had weakened his powers, but he could still use them, if he did it sparingly. Sam had asked him months before if he could save up, wait a few weeks and use it all to heal Dean but it didn't work that way. He wasn't a healing angel, he never had been. He was a soldier, and his healing abilities went only so far as to let him heal his own vessel, and he had never regretted that more than he had recently.

After three days of incessant waiting he goes to chapel to pray, leaving Dean with Bobby. The old hunter had come the day before, and he spent a few hours a day waiting with them. Seeing Dean in that bed would be enough to break anyone that loved him, and it's clear in Bobby's eyes that he can hardly take it. He buried Dean once, and the look on his face says that he's not sure he can do it again.

When he reaches the door of the chapel even damned as he is, it feels like going home after years away. It feels the same and different all at once, and there's tears in his eyes as he dips his fingers in the holy water. It doesn't burn him, yet, but he wonders how many centuries it will take before it will.

To his surprise Sam is already there, kneeling before half a dozen lit candles, lips moving as he prays. He looks up when he hears the door shut, and even in the half light Castiel can see the tears streaming down his face.

"Dean?"

"He's sleeping. Bobby's with him." He crosses the room, kneels carefully beside him.

"I should go. Maybe then someone'll hear you." His voice is dejected, tired, soaked with belief that after all this time, nothing he's done can atone for the things he once did.

"God hears you, Sam. You were forgiven long ago. I know; I've…heard it spoken of."

"I don't care." He does, but not now. Not when everything else is so wrong.

Castiel pulls him closer, lays Sam's head against his shoulder and lets him cry while he prays.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

He can still visit Dean in his dreams, though it's been a while since he's done it. Lately, there hasn't been a need. It had become something they did when they were apart, during the apocalypse, and after something they needed only on hunts, a way to be together even while sharing a hotel room with Sam. Now, it's all they have.

The first few nights he didn't dream, his sleep more chemical than real, but on the fourth he does and Castiel is there, showing up by his side in a run-down hotel room. He smiles, slides a hand across peeling wallpaper. "Interesting place for a dream."

Dean's there on the end of the bed, looking whole and well and not at all sick, smirking up at him. "And here I thought you'd remember. Damn, I must be getting' soft."

Cas laughs, soft, and the feel of it is almost unfamiliar. "We made love for the first time here."

"Yahtzee."

"Sam was out getting coffee."

"Eh, I kinda lied about that. I mean, he did get coffee, but he stayed there a hell of a lot longer than he needed cause I told him I had waited long enough to fuck you." He laughed, remembering. "God, I loved the face he made when I said that."

"Dean, I-"

"C'mere." He holds his hand out, and Castiel takes it, lets Dean pull him onto the bed and roll over on top of him, resting over him on one strong arm. Dean leans down to kiss him, slow, long, and deliberate, pulling back ever now and then to nibble gentle on his lower lip. When he finally pulls back enough to let Cas properly breathe he can feel that his lips are swollen from all the attention and he whimpers at the thought, presses closer.

When they come together it's slow and through, both of them blatantly memorizing, immortalizing every bit of this that they can. It isn't like their first time but in a way it's almost better, now that they have the familiarity of lovers. When it's over he clings desperately tight, presses his lips against Dean's ear and whispers 'please' so soft that he can hardly hear it himself.

"God yes."

When he pulls Cas into his arms again, Castiel tries not to wonder whether this will be the last time.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"Hello, Castiel."

He almost jumps at Azrael's voice, but he isn't really surprised. Instead he whirls on him, fists clenched. "I thought this was a reaper's job."

The angle of death smiles at him, black hair hanging just over his brilliant blue eyes. "It is. But Dean's very special to us, so I've been sent to escort him personally." He saunters forward, and there's genuinely kindness in his eyes. "I get it you know, what you did. They all talk about you, Cas, but I understand. If ever found something worth it, I'd do it too."

"I…thank you." He hasn't spoken to a brother or sister in ages, and to hear an old friend agree with him now sounds better than he would have expected. "Is he…will he…" He loses composure, looks away. "There's no hope, is there?"

"He will be at peace, Castiel. It won't hurt, I promise."

He almost laughs, but it's something more between a sob and gasp. "Yes. It will."

"Not him. I'll take care of him."

"He doesn't want this, he doesn't…"

"They never do." His hand comes down gently on Castiel's shoulder, and he doesn't shake him off. "You should be with him. It's not long, now. Tomorrow, or so they tell me."

"He's with Sam. They need time alone." They had said their goodbye already, really. The dream last night had been everything there was left to be done. All the same, he would treasure every extra second with him he could get. He feels the hand slide from his shoulder, and breath catches. "Azrael?" He hears him stop, gathers his courage. "Will I die?"

"Yes. In time. It's a bit longer than a human lifespan but yes, you will die."

"I see. I suspected." He licks his lips, studies the white wall in front of him. In his mind, he can see hell, can remember the heat and the screams and the blood Dean had been covered in when he pulled him out. "I understand."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''

It's past midnight, and Sam is passed out asleep on the cot they've had brought in by the window.

Dean's eyes are on him, and the worry there is all but screaming. "Don't let him start drinkin' too much. Damn near became an alcoholic last time."

Castiel rubs his arm gently, hand lingering over the handprint scar there. It seems eons ago now that he left it. "I won't. I promise."

His body's exhausted, spent, and every breath he fights for puts another knife in Castiel's heart. "I want a hunter's funeral this time. Don't let Sam keep me around just so he can keep talkin' to demons that won't do shit."

"Alright."

"Cas?" Something changes in his voice, and Castiel feels a single tear slip from his eyes.

"Yes, Dean?"

"Thanks for…" He licks his lips, shuts his eyes. "Back then. You didn't have to come with me. I said we were done, and you coulda left it at that. But you didn't."

He stands up slow, brushes a hand against Dean's cheek as he kisses his forehead. "I love you too." It's a risk, saying it, because he knows Dean never wanted those words out in the open, not from anyone, not even from Sam. Still, Dean allows it, though he shrugs it off quick.

"And don't sell the car. Ever."

"Of course."

"I was thinkin'…I'll see you someday, right?" Dean's eyes burn with hope at the thought, lighting up even with the dark circles underneath them.

Cas smiles, squeezes his arm. "Of course." It's an easy lie to tell. Small comfort for himself, but maybe more for Dean. It is at least the best comfort he can give, now.

Dean nods, tired eyes closing. "Good. I'll be waitin' on that then." He's quiet, and for a moment Castiel's almost sure he's fallen asleep. "What's it like, Cas?"

"Beautiful. You'll like it, I promise."

"Yeah, well, not to rain on their parade, but without you and Sam I think I'll just be bored. Just sayin'."

"Dean?" Sam's voice is sleepy, weak. He's only slept an hour at the most, and that's all he's had for the past 48.

"Hey, Sammy."

There's a familiar rough weight to the way he says the word, the same way he always says it when Sam's gone down in battle or they've come through a particularly tough spot. It's Dean's soul laid out in a word, and as much as it kills him to do it, Cas knows he needs to speak to his brother alone at least one more time. He stands, leans over to kiss Dean gently on the lips.

"I'll be back soon."

Dean smiles, gives a weak nod. Once he's able to tear his eyes away, it's easier to leave.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

He falls asleep around 11:00 AM, Sam leaning on the bed on one side and Cas lying beside him on the other. They both know Dean won't wake up, but even so when he doesn't, it doesn't feel like less of a blow.

In the days after, Sam fights when Castiel tells him they have to burn his body, but in the end he relents. There's a finality to it that breaks them all in different ways, and there's hardly a word spoken at the funeral. Just like the man himself always was, there's nothing important about Dean that needs to be said; they're all feeling it deep enough to make their bones bleed.

The house is empty without him, and by unspoken agreement he and Sam don't go home. He knows they'll never be able to sell it either, so it's probably lucky the boys were raised to not be too fussy about money.

In the trunk of the Impala they still have Ruby's knife, as well as the Colt that came back into their possession during the war. More than once in the first few weeks, Castiel thinks about using one of them. It's the same thought that stops him every time, and he can't help but smile at the thought that in the end, he really has become a Winchester. The true legacy of the Winchester men is self sacrifice, certainly, but there's a little more than that. The one thing that's passed down, that's beaten in until whoever survives follows it to the letter: at all costs, take care of Sam.

They're all each other has left, now. Much as he loves Sam, that wouldn't be enough to tie him here, not with Dean. Love alone wouldn't be, but responsibility is, and for that he can keep going. If he outlives Sam, and he's almost certain to, then he'll consider his backup plan again.

''''''''''''''''''''''''

They don't talk about him, not ever, at least not for six months. It's Sam who breaks the silence then, in the middle of a long drive to Tampa to take a case.

"He hated Florida."

Castiel takes a deep breath, feels the familiar pain rip his chest open again. _If he needs to talk, let him talk. He's like that sometimes._ He can hear Dean's voice saying it, as warm and clear in his head as if he'd died yesterday. "Really?"

"Yeah. The salt in the air, it fucks up the car and he'd…he'd wash it, God, like five times after we left." Sam sighs, heavy. "Can I drive?"

He pulls over at the next stop, lets Sam take the wheel and slides into the shotgun seat. He turns, enough to press his forehead against the glass. If Sam sees the tears on his cheeks, he doesn't say anything. Instead, he turns the radio up.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

WOW this ended up a HELL of a lot longer than I expected, but once I started it it just kinda took a life of its own.

But this was motherfucking draining, and I'm going to go watch something happy now…(lol)


End file.
